


I'm alive, but I'm dead

by entwashian



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29260653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entwashian/pseuds/entwashian
Summary: Would you like a new bird? One that's not dead?
Relationships: Drusilla/Earth-2 Laurel Lance
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VampirePaladin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampirePaladin/gifts).



By the time they tossed her into a cell, Laurel had given as good as she'd gotten, which meant her body was battered like a sheet cake before the baking. And every time she swallowed, it felt like someone was stabbing a jagged piece of glass into her throat. 

She could still smell the blood of the fresh incision and, ironically, the pungent antiseptic applied along with the rough stitches. As if they cared about her health. 

They'd given her an implant, a square box whose edges strained outward beneath the layer of her skin, so that Laurel could run her fingers along the hateful outline of the thing. They'd given her an implant, and they'd taken away her voice. 

Laurel looked around her cell, and saw, well, not much, actually. The setup was basic. Walls on three sides, bars on the fourth, and a deadbolt so rudimentary that it still had a keyhole. In the darkness, Laurel couldn't see into any other cells, but she could hear the captives in them, weeping and moaning, shrieking and groaning, and she could feel them, shuffling and scratching, pounding and scraping. Their captors had taken her voice, and apparently they were stupid enough to think that's all she was. 

She was out of her cage in a blink. She slunk down a stone corridor, and as she drew farther from the hall of cells, she found the passage dimly illuminated with actual firelight from sconces along the wall. 

And then Laurel saw _her_. Not in a cell, not shuffling or scraping, not weeping or groaning. She was in a white dress, sitting on the floor and chained to a bare wall. She was utterly quiet, her shoulders hunched in on themselves, her body held so still that there was no chance of a rattling chain. Silently, she met Laurel's eyes. 

Laurel still felt every blow of the beating her body had taken, and she had no idea what obstacles lay ahead of her to get out of this dungeon of a building. She tried to turn away, to move forward. The girl still regarded her silently, no sobbing or begging, no crying out an alarm to their captors. Laurel clenched her hands into fists. 

The girl nodded her head once, her chin dipping down and then back up again, her eyes never leaving Laurel's. Decision made, Laurel moved quickly, having already lingered too long. The shackles at the girl's hands and feet were so heavy and cumbersome that Laurel had trouble manipulating them the way she ought to have been able. 

After what seemed like interminable minutes, the girl's limbs were finally freed. Laurel backed off to give the girl some space, but she blinked and suddenly there was no one in front of her and someone behind her. 

"Fear not, my love," murmured a gentle, sing-song-y voice, and Laurel the telltale crunch of the cartilage in someone's face being rearranged -- she'd dealt enough punches to know. 

Laurel felt herself being spun around, and she turned to face the girl -- and it _was_ the same girl, her soft dark hair and white dress still the same -- and saw that she had changed. Sharp ridges replaced smooth skin, her eyes glowed yellow in the darkness, and when she huffed a soft laugh, she had the teeth of a predator. "Fear not," she repeated, taking Laurel by the hand. "I shall care for you." 

Afterward, Laurel barely remembered their flight from the castle, except for the screams of the unfortunate men they encountered, the scent of their blood, and the ferocity of the girl's blows.


	2. Chapter 2

The girl looked no more out of place in the forest than she had in a dungeon, wearing the darkness of the night like a halo around her head. She looked human again, but she was licking the blood of their victims from her fingertips. 

"My name's Drusilla," she said. "What's yours?" 

Laurel pressed the tip of her tongue to the roof of her mouth to try and shape the words, but of course, no sound came out. 

"Oh, you poor thing," Drusilla whimpered, stepping closer. "What have they done to you?" 

Laurel tried jerking away -- she didn't need anyone's pity; she didn't need **anyone** \-- but Drusilla just stepped closer yet again. Laurel heard the crunch of cartilage once more, and then, under the brightness of the moon, she saw Drusilla's change for the first time. 

"I promised I would care for you." Drusilla's tone was scolding, but Laurel was unsure at whom the barb of blame was directed. Drusilla's teeth had outgrown her mouth, sharp fangs dragging against the swell of her lips with every word she spoke. She grabbed Laurel by the shoulders, wrenching their bodies close together. Her head darted forward in a quick strike, and Laurel tried to scream, but of course, no sound came out. 

Drusilla's teeth tore into her throat and it was Laurel's turn to grip at _her_ shoulders, trying to find the strength to stay standing. If only she could stay standing, she had the chance to fight back, to flee, to make a choice. The fallen never get the chance to make a choice. 

Unexpectedly, Drusilla pulled away, and Laurel felt her body sway in the cold night air. Drusilla sputtered and spat into the dirt. "Nasty thing," she said, looking contemptuously at the ground. 

Laurel saw it, too: a small silver box. The implant that had been embedded in her throat. 

Drusilla leaned back in and nuzzled at the side of Laurel's neck, like a cat begging to be petted. 

Laurel buried one hand in Drusilla's hair, cradling the base of her skull. Drusilla licked at the open wound on her throat, and Laurel gasped in a breath of air. She whimpered slightly at the sting of it, a small sound escaping into the night. 

"Laurel," she sighed. "My name is Laurel."


	3. Chapter 3

Laurel cracked her eyes open as the blunt press of teeth against her neck became more insistent. 

Nestled as they were into the crisp linens of their bed, even Dru's skin was rosy with the warmth stolen from Laurel's sleeping body. 

"No sampling the merchandise," Laurel rasped, each word blazing its own trail of agony as it traveled upward through her throat. 

"Just a nibble," Dru bargained, her fingernails scratching playfully on Laurel's chest. When she glanced up from the subject of her preoccupation -- Laurel's neck -- her eyes were fully golden. 

"After all, I deserve a treat. " Dru pouted. "Someone woke me from an amusing dream with the sweet sound of her whimpers and the salty scent of her tears." 

Laurel breathed in heavily through her nose. "Fuck," she breathed back out. 

"You don't have to hurt any more, my pet," Drusilla whispered enticingly. "I can make you mine, right now, tonight." She bent down to run the tip of her tongue along the gouges that stippled the vulnerable part of Laurel's throat. The wounds had just barely finished closing, the newest layer of flesh pulling the edges taut. 

But Drusilla wasn't after the taste of Laurel's skin. Well, not _only_. 

"I shall make the hurting stop," Dru crooned. 

"And the healing," Laurel said. This wasn't the first time this conversation had come up. "I can't," Laurel swallowed, trying to soothe the ache in her throat, "Be stuck. Like this. Forever." 

"Very well," Drusilla said. "We shall be patient and, my little bird, you will sing again." She put away her demon face, and Laurel stared into blue eyes once more. "Can I tell you a secret?" Dru leaned in. "I always knew you would." Her teeth were square and white when she smiled. They gleamed like the sun, not like the things that lurk in the dark. 

"When you turn me," Laurel vowed, her voice dry and cracking, her words rising like smoke through the air between them, "you'll see how beautifully I can sing." She pressed the tips of her fingers to her throat while Dru watched. "When you turn me, the only marks on me will be yours."


	4. Chapter 4

She'd pulled down buildings before, flimsy modern things constructed of metal bars and walls of glass. 

The castle was different. Its walls were constructed of granite -- a stone studded with tiny crystals -- and when Laurel sang to them, they began to sing back to her. The stones vibrated so rapidly in place that their oscillation caused a high-pitched tone to ring out through the clearing where the castle stood. Just before the castle fell, the very stones with which it had been built rang out its death knell. It was the second-loveliest sound Laurel had ever heard. 

The first? Drusilla's giggle as she clapped her hands and watched their former prison crumble into rubble. 

"I owe you a seed, my pet," Drusilla said, her eyes sparking with pride. 

"Keep the raincheck," Laurel said easily, wrapping her arm around Drusilla's waist. "I have a different prize in mind."

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song "Villain" by K/DA.


End file.
